


Four

by holdinginfinity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (only a tiny bit), Angst, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Oneshot, SO MUCH FLUFF, lifeguard AU, super fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdinginfinity/pseuds/holdinginfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Liam are lifeguards, Zayn almost drowns, Louis likes little kids, and Niall's way too forgiving.<br/>Mature for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at backstories. So a lot of the AU's premises are revealed as the story goes on. Nutshell; Zayn's adopted (Tricia and Yaser are his adoptive parents, Waliyha and Safaa are their children, though they act like siblings). Liam and Harry are buddies, they work a summer lifeguard job together. They're all 18 and it's the summer after they've graduated high school.

**Zayn**

The morning sun crept across his face, pooling on his cheeks, warming his brow. It’s the gentlest awakening he could ask for. Even so, he manages to roll out of bed cursing. The boy glances at his alarm clock (8:30 AM) and feels a few more colorful words spill out of his mouth. He likes the taste of them, and repeats himself as he navigates through his messy room, dodging piles of discarded clothing and trash like a ship dodges ice bergs.

Stepping into the adjoining bathroom, he stares at the unhappy face in the mirror. Hair ruffled, tattoos stark against his caramel skin, eyes still glazed with sleepiness; he’s a mess.

Today, he has to watch his two younger sisters, Waliyha and Safaa. As if the thought of them was enough to summon them, both of his siblings tumble through his bedroom door, shouting, “Zayn! Zayn! Mum’s leaving, she says it’s time to get up! Zayn, Zayn!”

They giggle to themselves when they see he’s already awake, then stand, fidgeting, for a moment while their brains process this information and decide what to do with it. They came to the same conclusion at the same time, running at their older brother full-speed.

He catches first Safaa, then Waliyha, stumbling a little with the force of their tackles. His forearm hits the sink painfully, elbow smashing into the chrome faucets. His skin splits and blood leaks from the wound. The continuous stream of swear words that has been flowing from his mouth increased in offensiveness and volume, and he finally shouts, “Get the fuck out!”

“Sorry! Sorry, Zayn! We’re sorry!” Their laughter makes their apologies unconvincing.

 Zayn decides that today is not going to be a good day.

 

After cleaning up his battle wounds (really, his cut wasn’t too bad; the most pain came from his bruised arm) and throwing on a simple white t shirt and jeans, he stalks out of his room and into the kitchen. He can hear the TV going in the living room, Waliyha and Safaa watching whatever weird shit the kids were into these days. Pokémon will forever be the best TV series, in his most humble opinion.

“Did you already eat?” He calls to them.

“Yes!” was the reply.

He rummages in the cupboards for something, _anything_ to put in his body. His stomach is eating itself, if the sounds and sensations are anything to go by. He finally decides on cereal, and carries his bowl to the couch, eating slowly as he glares up at the crappily drawn figures on the screen. _He_ could do better than that.

“Zaaaaayn,” Waliyha whines.

“What.” It’s less of a question than a statement.

“Devi says she’s going to the pool today. Can we go to the pool?” Waliyha’s voice is so high, she sounds like she’s been inhaling helium.

“All right, all right. But you’ve got to clean your room first. You too, Saf.” Zayn allows. It’s going against his better judgment. Pools are stupid, and water is even more stupid. Not to mention that if something goes wrong, he won’t be able to help. He almost changes his mind, suggests something else, but then he remembers that Louis frequents the pool. A day watching his sisters with Louis isn’t half as bad as a day watching his sisters alone.

He pulls his phone out and sends his friend a text: _i’m watching the girls today. come to the pool with us? :)_

Louis replies almost instantly: _be there soon x_

Zayn smiles slightly. Perhaps today won’t be so bad.

 

An hour later and he and the girls lay out their towels on the lawn around the pool. The sun’s beating down on them hard, the heat lying on their bodies like a blanket. Zayn makes the girls slather sunscreen on, jokingly leaving the lotion on their noses alone, instead of rubbing it in. His sisters look at each other and screech, then giggle, rubbing at their faces furiously. Zayn laughs and shoos them away, in an excellent mood, all things considered.

He settles his sunglasses on his face and stretches out on his towel, swim trunks slung low on his hips. Louis flops down beside him a moment later. Without opening his eyes, Zayn greets him. Louis returns his hello and asks curiously, “Why aren’t you in the pool, mate?”

“Pools are overrated,” Zayn mutters. He loves Louis, he really does. But there are some things that Zayn will never be able to admit aloud; he doesn’t want to look weak, or unable. And if that means playing cool about his inability to swim, then so be it.

“Suit yourself,” Louis says with a shrug. He pokes Zayn’s side. “There’s a girl over there making eyes at me. I’m going to get her number.”

Zayn laughs aloud, positive that Louis’s joking about this girl. He props himself up on his elbows anyway, watching Louis saunter over to the edge of the pool where there is, oh my God, a girl smiling prettily at his best friend.

Louis turns to give him an exaggerated wink.

Zayn’s shaking with laughter.

 

Zayn dozes for a bit, and then he reads. He finishes his book, and while the plot is still spinning in his head, he spends his time people-watching.

The first objects of his attention are young man and woman, who splash each other playfully in the shallow end. He conjures a story about them in his mind; the man dated the woman’s sister before moving on to her, and the woman’s been cheating on him with his brother as revenge. He catches her around the waist and spins her around before pulling her in for a sweet kiss. Zayn makes a face and then lets his eyes wander over the crowded pool, looking for characters for a different story.

A group of teenagers catches his attention. Three guys and a girl. The girl’s in the water, making mischief and splashing the boys, who sit on the wall and let their legs dangle. While two of them laugh and splash her back, talking animatedly, one eyes her with an unusual intensity. Zayn decides that this is her ex-boyfriend, and he’s not over her. The girl glances at him and her face softens. Zayn amends his story. She’s not over him either. The other two boys are there to buffer; these two just wanted an excuse to hang out together.

The boy suddenly surges toward the girl, ensnaring her lips with his while his arms pull her to him. She tangles her hands in his hair. At first, Zayn thinks she’s enjoying herself, but he realizes she’s trying to pull the boy off, trying to get out of his hold. Zayn shifts, unsure if he should intervene. The two other boys answer this question for him when they leap into the water and pull the boy off of the girl. Even from here, Zayn can hear the lads shouting at their friend, asking him what the hell is wrong with him, and why the fuck did he do that. The girl clings to the side of one of the boys, eyes shut tightly, breathing fast. What the hell _was_ that, Zayn wonders.

The boys continue to shout at each other until a lifeguard interrupts. Zayn eyes him lazily, but appreciatively. His skin’s tanned to perfection, and that cut-sleeve tank top showcases muscled biceps. The lifeguard runs a hand through his short hair as he stands over the four teens, consternation in his dark eyes. Zayn’s too far to see the exact color, but he fancies that they’re the color of freshly turned earth, or coffee beans, or the rich hot chocolate from that café on the corner of his street. The man talks to the teens for a little while longer, then nods and wanders off with the same slow gait that all lifeguards seem to have. Zayn wonders if they go over it in lifeguard training. His eyes follow the other boy for a bit, and then he lets them drift again.

His gaze falls on Louis, who has abandoned that pretty girl in favor of the Malik girls. His blue eyes sparkle as he surfaces from a long dive, startling Safaa and Waliyha. The girls begin to splash him, laughing wildly. Zayn gets up and saunters over, smiling slightly. They notice him immediately and then gang up on him, splashing him until he’s well and soaked. Zayn makes an involuntary noise as the cool water runs over his sun-warmed skin, then he leans down and half-heartedly slaps water towards the trio.

Safaa quickly tires of this and strikes out for the edge of the pool, declaring, “I’m going off the diving board!” Zayn gives her a hand as she clambers out of the water. She drops it quickly, but then grabs it again and said, “Will you come with me?”

Zayn laughs. “Of course, Saf.”

She tugs him to the high dive, and they wait in line together. Saf chatters incessantly about school and this really _really_ cute boy who all of her friends like but he’s like _so_ mean, and the substitute teacher that gave them an entire packet over the weekend! Zayn tunes her out, focusing his attention on people-watching again. He spots the tanned lifeguard and admires him as he patrols the pool, drawing closer to the high dive.

Finally, Saf tugs on his hand. It’s her turn. Zayn relaxes his grip, starting to pull his hand away, but her fingers tighten.

“Zayn, I’m scared.” Saf whispers. Her eyes are huge.

“It’s all right, Safaa. You don’t have to jump.” Zayn tries to reassure her, but he’s distracted by the lifeguard, who knots his hands behind his head as he makes his rounds. Damn, he is _fit_. He meets Zayn’s gaze for a moment, then his eyes dart away. Zayn must be imagining the flush coloring his cheeks. It’s just the sun.

“But Waliyha called me a scaredy-cat.” Saf’s defensive now. “I’m not a scaredy-cat.”

“Saf,” Zayn’s exasperated. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to come up with me!” Now she’s bright and bubbly. God, her mood shifts like lightening. But she’s got her brother’s attention. He dismisses the idea immediately, though. He’s not going up there. He’d have to backtrack down that ladder, and everyone knows that’s the most humiliating thing that could possibly happen at a pool.

Saf can see his response in his eyes, and she starts begging, her own eyes tearing up. The kid behind them shouts, “Just go with her!” Zayn shoots the ten-year-old boy a glare that could curdle milk, and the sun-burned child cringes, hiding behind his friend.

Zayn’s a good brother, though. He relents, urging Safaa up the ladder and following a rung below. When she’s at the top, he starts back down.

“Zayn!” She whimpers. The fear is evident in her voice.

“Shit,” he sighs. Swallowing his pride, he climbs onto the board. The rough texture underneath his feet keeps him grounded, despite the fact that it’s wet in some places. He’s not afraid of heights, but the fact that he’s suspended thirty feet over a pool that’s another twenty feet deep is enough to get his heart racing.

Saf grips his hand and slowly shuffles to the end of the diving board.

Below them, a whistle blows. She starts, and slips off of the diving board. Zayn’s heart stops. He wills himself to jump after her, to be there when she surfaces. But his feet are frozen in place, and his hands stay at his sides, fisted so tightly that he can feel his fingernails ripping his palms apart. All he can manage is a strangled, “Saf!”

Her fall isn’t graceful, but she remembers at the last moment to right herself, and hits the water feet-first.

He notices that the lifeguard started forward when Saf fell, only to relax when he saw that she’d landed rightly.

He breathes a sigh of relief, entire body loosening.

Zayn considers, for a moment, jumping off of the board. He can do it, he thinks. If not…well, there’s that lifeguard there…He sneaks a glance at the other boy, who’s helping Safaa out of the water and firmly, but not roughly, pounding her on the back as her body is wracked with coughs. Then Zayn shakes his head and laughs to himself. He just has to look down at the sparkling, shifting water beneath him to know that he’d never have the mental strength to actually jump.

So he turns and heads back to the ladder, carelessly placing his feet in his hurry to get off the damned board.

He slips.

His first thought is, _they’re going to know I can’t swim._ But he’s spared that embarrassment as the back of his head strikes the diving board. Pain explodes through him. He’s not Zayn anymore; he’s skin and bones and agony.

As he falls, his vision whirls, and he realizes he’s going in headfirst. Isn’t water like concrete if you hit it fast enough? He tries to remember where he heard that, but his head is spinning and everything hurts, and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

He panics. His lungs are imploding, he’s gasping for air that isn’t there. He tries to flail his arms, puts everything he’s got into it. But all he can feel is pain and all that fucking air rushing by him. If there’s so much of it, why can’t he _get any_.

And then he hits the water. It’s calm and peaceful in the pool. He doesn’t know what’s up and what is down. His pain is receding, becoming less urgent. He can close his eyes now; he can relax, because he knows it’s going to be all right. Right?

 

There’s an angel above him. He’s haloed in white light. Zayn can’t make out his features, but he can see a smile on his face, and he can tell his eyes are dark and lovely. Zayn’s dead. He died and now this angel is going to have to tell him sorry, he’s in the wrong place, the stairs are over there. He tries to say something, to apologize; why did he come to heaven anyway? He knows he doesn’t belong here.

But instead of words, water gushes from his mouth. He tries to sit, so he can stop spitting up over himself. An arm wraps around his shoulders, easing him up. Despite himself, Zayn notices how warm and muscular said arm is, and leans against it gratefully.

“I’m so sorry--,” he begins, blinking his eyes to adjust to the bright light. When they do, his mouth changes his sentence without consent from his brain. “My God, you’re beautiful.” His eyes widen as he realizes what he said. And _then_ he realizes it’s the lifeguard.

“Shit.” He says as quietly as he can manage. Luck is finally on his side, though, because there’s a crowd around them, and they’d started cheering when Zayn spoke.

The lifeguard heard, though. His cheeks are a soft pink and he’s not meeting Zayn’s eyes. Zayn sighs slightly; he’s probably straight, and he’s too nice to tell Zayn to bugger off. Luckily for Zayn, distraction arrives in the form of Waliyha and Safaa. They’re crying as they rush forward, burying themselves in Zayn’s shoulders.

The lifeguard lets his arm linger around Zayn, and the tattooed boy feels warmth pooling in his stomach, though he tries to tell himself it’s not a big deal and he shouldn’t read too much into it.

“It’s okay,” Zayn says soothingly to his sisters, who continue to sob his name over and over again. Really, it wasn’t that big of a deal, was it? He just slipped…

“C’mon, ladies,” Louis butts in, pulling them off of Zayn. “Give the lad some space. It looks like he needs to get his head fixed up.”

What?

Zayn touches his head gingerly, trying to find the spot where the soreness is radiating from. As he touches it, he gasps and his vision lists to the left wildly. His hand comes away bloody, and he feels himself getting woozy.

“Back off! Give him some air!” says a deep, unfamiliar voice. Zayn tries to look around to see who’s talking, but his head’s spinning and he can’t seem to focus. “It’s all right,” says the voice again, and this time Zayn’s looking into the lifeguard’s eyes as he speaks.

 

Zayn’s cradled against someone’s muscular chest when he wakes up. “I don’t usually go this far on the first date,” He murmurs drowsily. He notices his head is hanging backwards, unsupported, and when he tries to shift it back against his captor’s arms, he remembers why. The pain makes him tremble, makes him suck in his breath and hold it until he can see straight again.

“You’re quite the charmer,” says the lifeguard, whose name Zayn has yet to learn. He likes the way his voice rumbles through him, though, and settles himself more firmly against the other boy.

“You’re quite the flatterer. So, who exactly do I owe my life to?” Zayn wants to know every insignificant detail about this mysterious knight in shining armor, if just to hear his voice vibrate against his spine again.

“My name’s Liam, and really, it’s not a big deal.” _Keep talking,_ Zayn begs him mentally.

“Liam. Liiam. Lee-yum.” He rolls the name around in his mouth, and decides he likes it even more than he likes swearing. “I like you, Lee-yum.”

This elicits a laugh from Liam. Zayn wishes the world would stop so he could focus solely on that sound. It’s deep and boyish and sweet, and he wants to wrap himself up in it.

“I like you, too, Zayn,” Liam admits.

Zayn looks up at him curiously. “How’d you know my name?”

“Your, uh, sisters were saying it earlier.” Liam looks slightly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…“

“You can make it up to me, if you really want,” Zayn says agreeably. He glances around, wondering where Liam’s taking him, and why it’s taking so long. Are they going to _walk_ to the hospital? Not that he’s really complaining. Liam’s body is warm against his, and he smells like sunshine.

“How’s that?” Liam asks conversationally. Zayn feels the lifeguard’s muscles tense as he kicks a door open nonchalantly. He carries Zayn into a small, white room. It has a gurney and a padded counter, along with a regular counter, sink, and a small desk. As gently as he can, he settles Zayn onto the padded counter, the waxy paper crackling loudly.

As he rummages in the drawers of the desk, Zayn speaks to his back. “Actually, I’m not really sure. Have you got—“ Zayn’s question is punctuated by an “Aha!” from Liam, “—any ideas?”

Liam turns around, toting a first-aid kid. He sets it beside Zayn and pulls out something clear in a bottle, a few cloths, gauze, and medical tape. “I could treat your injury,” he suggests, and wets one of the cloths with the liquid from the bottle. Zayn’s nose tingles and he realizes it’s rubbing alcohol.

“It will sting, though,” Liam says apologetically, dabbing gently with the wet cloth.

“Then it’s not good enough,” Zayn says matter-of-factly. “Try again.”

The pain is nothing compared to when Zayn had been poking at it earlier. He does hold his breath until Liam’s done, though.

“How about…I promise to save you if this happens again?” Liam tries, while he presses a new, dry cloth against the wound. The pressure makes Zayn’s head spin a little bit.

Zayn rolls his eyes, then regrets that decision as a wave of nausea sweeps over him. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

He feels Liam’s fingers in his hair, pushing and pulling this way and that, trying to get a closer look at the cut. Zayn makes an involuntary, satisfied noise, and leans back into his touch. He thinks he hears Liam’s breathing hitch.

“I could play with your hair,” Liam proposes. Zayn must be imagining the shakiness of his voice. “Getting warmer.” Zayn teases.

Liam sighs sadly and says, “I think the doctors are going to make you shave it, though.” He sounds as if he’s taking this to heart. He replaces the cloth with another one, and this one comes off with barely any blood. Zayn groans. “It’s fine. My hair’s fine and the cut’s fine and my head’s fine and everything’s fine.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Liam sounds business-like, “then I think we’re done here.” Even through his cool, polite tone, Zayn can tell he’s teasing.

“Hey.” Zayn replies petulantly. “You still haven’t repaid me.”

Liam snorts incredulously. “Didn’t you say you owed your life to me?”

“That was before you were being creepy.” Zayn asserts.  He notices Liam’s arms start to extend toward him, as if the other boy’s going to carry him again. Then they drop and Liam shakes his head. “You’re just impossible to please, I think.”

“I think not.” Zayn says brightly. Then his voice drops, becoming seductive. “In fact, I think you know exactly how to please me.” Liam’s eyes widen comically and he freezes in the process of putting away the first-aid kit. Zayn is practically purring, he’s so satisfied with that reaction.

“W-What?” Liam’s shocked. It’s adorable, really, the way he’s flustered by this. He almost slams the desk drawer shut when he’s put the first aid kit away. He’s blushing furiously.

Zayn laughs heartily. “C’mon, Lee-yum. You’ve got two options.” He pauses. “Actually three.”

Liam glances at him, brows raised. Zayn catches his breath; where the hell did _that_ come from? He looks like a puppy, so eager to please. Zayn almost reaches out to touch his cheek. He stops himself, though, and lets a smirk stretch his lips. “Now I may be misreading the signs, here, and let me know if that’s the case, but it seems to me that you like me like I like you. Am I right?” He waits until Liam nods, blushing again (God, he’s _adorable_ ), before he continues. “So here are the options. You’re going to give me your number. Or you’ll take me out on a date. Or you can do both.”

Liam looks like he’s putting serious consideration into this. His brows are furrowed, his mouth set thoughtfully. Zayn wants to kiss those lips. He wants to push Liam against a wall and kiss him until he’s as dizzy as Zayn was when he fished him out of the water. He wants to hear Liam gasp his name as their legs tangle and their bodies are flush against each other.

“I think…there’s another option,” Liam murmurs. Zayn stares at him, hoping that his most recent train of thought is obvious in his eyes.

It must be, because Liam leans forward until their lips are mere centimeters away. Zayn’s going crazy, trying to hold himself back. With tangible effort, he rips his gaze away from Liam’s lips, focusing instead on the other boy’s eyes. He takes a moment to really examine them now. It’s not fair to apply any of his earlier descriptions, they’re too inadequate. Liam’s eyes are both soft and resolved, both playful and nervous, and deeper than any ocean, their hue unlike any other shade Zayn had seen. He fancies that if the Earth were a person, she’d have Liam’s eyes.

Zayn’s breathing shallowly, waiting for Liam to say something, do something, _anything._ Yet, at the same time, he wishes this moment could extend forever.

Liam closes his eyes and sighs heavily. Zayn feels his breath fan out on his face; he smells like summer, cliché as it may be.

“Lee-yum…” Zayn draws his name out, relishing the sounds on his tongue. They slip out of his lips and away, leaving him feeling a little empty. “What’s your other option?” He says softly.

Liam’s eyes open again, and he draws away. Zayn’s heart cracks a little. He asks himself why Liam’s got this effect on him already. They’d met what, an hour ago at most? Depending on how long Zayn had been out. It’s not fair that he’s already got Zayn wrapped around his finger, hanging on his every word. Zayn resolves to put some distance between them—literally and metaphorically.

He leans back, resting his head gingerly against the whitewashed wall. The paper crackles as he shifts his weight, masking the heavy, pervasive silence. Liam eyes him from beneath hooded brows, then sighs heavily and says, “I’ll have to tell you on our date.”

Zayn blinks, shifting languidly. His head hurts like hell. “Or don’t.”

Liam throws him a questioning glance.

“What?” Zayn asks.

“I…you…” He stumbles over his words for a minute. “I thought…”

“Did you?” Zayn asks, his tone a bit clipped. “What about?”

Liam blushes and looks down at his feet. Zayn almost takes pity on him. He almost bites back his harsh words and pulls Liam into a warm embrace. But he doesn’t. Liam’s not going to get the better of him. Zayn is stronger than this.

“I…never mind, I guess…” Liam sounds pained.

“All right,” says Zayn, and he unseats himself, slowly making his way to the door. As his hand touches the handle, he looks at Liam over his shoulder and asks, “You gonna let me wander around until I die of starvation or are you going to help me out?”

Liam follows Zayn without a word, brows knitted together and lips pursed.

 

 

 

**Liam**

Liam flicks his sunglasses open and shut over and over. The sound becomes hypnotic, as does his slow, revolving gaze. He’s not really taking in what he’s seeing; he’s just repeating the motions. The sun’s beating down hard on his lower body, though his torso and up is shaded by the umbrella in his ridiculous high chair. He feels like a prison guard, glaring down at the inmates, keeping them in order.

He can’t seem to focus on his job, though. He can’t focus on anything. Not since a week and a half ago.

Zayn hadn’t been back to the pool since that day. Liam’s starting to give in to his more pessimistic side. He’ll never see the beautiful boy again, and it’s his fault. He’s not sure what he did, really, but he’s pretty sure that he’s to blame. After all, Liam was basically giving the other boy the green light to go ahead and do what he would, but he just pulled back. Liam feels cold, despite the ridiculous heat.

A shiver runs down his spine, but this time it’s got nothing to do with his perceived temperature; he’s remembering the feeling of his lips on Zayn’s. He may have been trying to save the tattooed boy’s life, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying himself. After all, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of water-slicked lips, smooth and supple. Even though he wasn’t exactly getting a response, he’d have to rate that as one of his favorite kisses.

He shakes his head to himself, just slightly.

That wasn’t a kiss, and he knows it. Kisses don’t count unless both parties are conscious and enjoying themselves. This means his first kiss doesn’t really count. Liam cringes a little to remember that; he had been drunk out of his mind and the prettiest girl in the room had been hitting on him. Next thing he knew, their tongues were in each other’s mouths and her hands were scrabbling at his shirt. That was the night he realized he was into guys. Because about fifteen minutes later, he was kissing the prettiest boy in the room, and he enjoyed himself a hell of a lot more in the other boy’s arms.

Liam sighs a little, thinking about that boy. What was his name? That night was so fuzzy…Kyle maybe? He remembers his cheeky smile and those piercing blue eyes. It was an odd name, he thinks. He feels it on the tip of his tongue, but his throat’s not getting the message. He eventually exhales in frustration and tries to return his thoughts to the task at hand; namely, blowing his whistle at rambunctious kids and gesturing furiously.

One of his coworkers signals to him and Liam nods in acknowledgement. He clambers down the chair’s steps, graceful as a swan (in his own mind, at least). His mate snickers at him and Liam shoots Harry a glare.

“I don’t need this from you,” he growls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry purrs demurely. His blue-green eyes dance with amusement as he slides past Liam. Liam turns to watch him as he passes, eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry’s eyes mirrored his, tightening into glittering slits. Before Liam realized what was happening, Harry had placed his hands on the other boy’s chest and shoved him into the pool water.

A tremendous splash ensued, along with swearing and sputtering as Liam surfaced. Water ran off of him in miniature rivers as he stood, still submerged to his waist.

“You little prick!” He shouted, slogging to the stairs.

Harry laughed mischievously from his perch, high up on the chair. Liam removed his soaked tank top, balled it up, and flung it at the curly-headed devil. Harry batted it out of the air, and it hit the cement with a wet splat. Liam sighed unhappily and picked it up, carefully hanging it on the cross bar of the chair’s legs to dry.

“I hate you sometimes,” he admitted to Harry.

The other boy chuckled merrily and patted Liam’s shorn hair.

Liam sighed again and wandered to the adult-only pool, watching a few swimmers do laps. He considered encouraging them, but then discarded that idea, thinking he’d be embarrassed if someone had done that to him. So he stood like a stone sentinel for a few minutes, then migrated to the children’s’ area.

There was so much noise and confusion that he skipped over the two caramel-skinned girls twice before realizing that he recognized their faces. Faintly, but he was certain they meant something to him. He scrutinized them more closely, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious. The older girl burst into laughter, and he recognized those lips and her nose and the way her eyes crinkled.

His heart stuttered and he stopped mid-step.

Then he regained his composure and he looped back to the chair Harry occupied.

“Haz,” he hissed.

Harry looked down at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Trade me. I need the chair for a bit,” Liam touched the fabric of his shirt, assessing whether or not he could wear it. It was nearly dry, and he almost pulled it on. Then he reconsidered. He knew he had an attractive body. It was hard not to, after working at the pool for so long. He let his fingers fall, then looked up at his best mate, pleading.

“Oh God, not the puppy eyes. All right, all right, take it. Just stop looking at me like that,” Harry groaned.

Liam’s beamed at him and said, “Thanks, Haz, I owe you one.”

“Damn right you do,” Harry grumbled, scrambling off of the chair. “You’ll explain later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam affirmed, taking his place. He settled back and threw on his sunglasses. From here, he could safely search the pool for Zayn. He did just that. After a few minutes, his enthusiasm waned. Another few, and his stomach sank. After scanning the entire place at least three times, he sighed in defeat. He should’ve known. Zayn wanted nothing to do with him, and he knew better than to come to a place he knew Liam would be.

Dejected, Liam slowly removed himself from the chair and stepped down the rungs. Harry was at his side within a minute and had reclaimed his throne.

“Couldn’t find what you were looking for?” Harry smirks.

Liam doesn’t reply, just stretches his arms high over his head and thinks that maybe this is a good thing. This way he can forget about Zayn more quickly.

And it’s as he’s thinking this calming thought that his eyes catch onto the slender figure of a dark-haired boy exiting the pool building.

He freezes in his stretch, then hurriedly looks away. Had he imagined it, or had Zayn’s eyes flicked over in his direction? No, there’s no way. Liam wasn’t important enough for that; he was too boring, too ordinary, just like his friends said.

A small, unhappy sound slipped from his lips, and Liam adjusted his aviators before he resumed his slow patrol of the pool. He kept his eyes on the children, determinedly avoiding Zayn’s gaze.

He couldn’t help himself, though. It was the tattoos.

He’d noticed them before, but hadn’t looked too closely. Now, safe behind his tinted lenses, he examined them more thoroughly. The first ones that jumped out at him were the ones all over his arms. Then he scrutinized the ones on his torso, eyes lingering on the heart near the waistband of Zayn’s black trunks. They hung low on his body, showcasing his narrow hips. Liam wanted to hear about each and every tattoo, wanted to know what the foreign script on his collar bone said, wanted to touch each and every one, to memorize the way his hands looked on them.

He felt himself flush slightly and returned his gaze to the mess that was the designated play area. He needed a distraction before his situation became obvious. It’s a good thing that Zayn was doing a better job of ignoring him than Liam could manage. A loud cat call caught his attention and he turned to see Harry gesturing at him to come over. Obligingly, Liam sauntered over, trying to keep his cool.

“Liam, is that a _boner_?” Harry’s laughing so hard he can hardly get the words out.

“No, Harry—“ Liam tries to get out.

“Oh my God you’re not getting turned on by the kids, are you?” Harry has the ability to turn even the most inappropriate subjects into a joke. Pedophilia was certainly not something Liam laughed at, especially when he was being accused of it.

“What the hell? No!” Liam sputters, angry and indignant.

“Wait, is it a NRB?” Harry asks. [NRB= No Reason Boner, idk if that’s a thing in England but it is here.]

“No, it’s—“ Liam realizes, too late, that he should just go with that explanation. “I mean…yeah, that’s right…”

“Oh no, it’s not. Who, then?” The curly headed asshole isn’t letting him drop the subject. “Does this have to do with the chair?”

Sighing, Liam leans against the chair. “Yeah. Remember that boy that nearly drowned last week?”

“No…” Harry’s lips are set in a thoughtful grimace. His brow furrows.

“He slipped off the high dive? I pulled him out and gave him CPR?” Liam tries.

“Oh, _that_ one! Yeah, yeah.” Harry’s grinning widely, dimples prominent. “I remember him.”

Liam swallows, thinking that Harry’s probably remembering more than that. Hopefully he didn’t notice…

“When he woke up, you smiled so wide I thought your face would freeze like that.” Harry teases.

Damn.

“Is he here, then?” Harry starts craning his neck.

“Yeah, yeah, but don’t be so obvious!” Liam snaps. “He’s over by the kiddie pool, on the grass.”

“Should I go get his number for you?” Liam didn’t think it was possible for Harry’s grin to widen, but it did. “Ooh, he’s even got a cute friend. Maybe I’ll get both their numbers!”

He rocked the chair, causing Harry to scramble up and leap out, landing hard on the hot stone. His best friend threw him a venomous glare, then scrambled off in Zayn’s direction.

_Shit shit shit_ , Liam thought, panicking. Should he chase him down? That’d make it too obvious, wouldn’t it? But what if he got to Zayn and told him about Liam’s erection? That was so much worse than the alternative. Liam bolted after Harry, but by then Haz had gotten too much a head start, and there were these damn kids in the way, and it was too slick, Liam was going to fall—

He hit the ground hard, his knees and elbows taking his weight. If anyone heard a whimper of pain, it was from the concrete. Certainly not from him. He rolled onto his back, then sat up to assess the damage. His knees were streaked with blood and his arms were not in much better shape.

Getting up was a Sisyphean effort, but he did it. Instead of hobbling after Harry, who was now at Zayn’s side, he retreated to the main building, searching out that little white-washed room and the first-aid kit there. After cleaning himself up and wrapping gauze around the worst of it, he exited the room. He refused to contemplate the last time he’d been in this room. Wandering the halls robotically (but gingerly), he got as far as the door to the outside pool and then paused. He didn’t know if he could brave Harry’s mocking words. Worse, he didn’t know if he could face Zayn after what was probably a catastrophe brought about by the very same idiot responsible for his wounds.

Before he could make up his mind, the door opened inward, smashing oh so painfully against his freshly skinned elbow. An embarrassing sound escaped from his mouth as he danced back, clutching the bandage on his right arm. A red stain slowly blossomed on the white fabric.

“Oh shit, sorry,” says a vaguely familiar voice, sounding genuinely distraught by his pain.

Liam looks up into much more familiar eyes. He’s distracted from the pain by the starburst of lighter gold-brown near Zayn’s pupils that he hadn’t noticed before. By extension, he’s also distracted from responding. But he gets ahold of himself and winces. Not because of his fumbling. It was the pain that caused that. Yeah.

“Um, it’s all right,” Liam replies. His voice is so weak, so quiet. He wills it to be more confident as he adds, “Don’t worry about it.”

“All right, I won’t,” Zayn replies. The concern has been suddenly sucked out of his voice, now that he realizes who was on the other side of the door. It was deadpan now, completely toneless and without inflection. The hurt must have been obvious in Liam’s eyes, because Zayn’s mouth twists and he adds, “I _am_ sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Liam sighs, shouldering past him to get outside. His eyes are downcast, so he doesn’t notice Zayn reaching for him until his hand’s on Liam’s too-hot skin. He morosely lets Zayn turn him, lets his grip on the door loosen until it swings shut softly behind him. But he doesn’t really notice that because by then, Zayn has shoved him against the tiled wall and crashed their lips together.

For a second, Liam doesn’t react, and he can feel Zayn start to pull back. But then he catches the other boy’s face between his hands and kisses him back, fire burning through his body. Zayn’s the sun, and Liam’s being scorched into nothing just by being in his vicinity. But he doesn’t care, because it feels more right than anything he’s ever experienced.

Zayn’s nails scratch at his chest, down his abs and hover at the waistband of his red shorts. Liam doesn’t care that everyone will be able to see, because his hands are in Zayn’s thick hair and he’s doing his damnedest to pull apart that perfect quiff. He imagines Zayn’s hair fluffed out and unruly, and it only makes him kiss the other boy harder.

Zayn’s tongue brushes against his lips, once, twice, and Liam lets them part. Zayn makes a rough noise in the back of his throat and Liam grips the tattooed boy more closely, until there isn’t enough space between them for Zayn’s searching fingers. Instead, he wraps them around Liam’s neck, rising up on his toes to get better access to the other boy’s mouth.

Liam’s overwhelmed. Between the inferno scorching through his veins and the slender fingers running through his short hair, he loses sense of the time and this place and what his name is. All he can remember is Zayn, so when they pull apart to gasp air into their lungs, it’s his name on Liam’s lips.

“God, that was hot,” Zayn whispers, catching Liam’s mouth with his own again. This kiss was slower, less fervent. Their lips move languidly, and Liam thinks he could spend the rest of his life this way. The fire that had been consuming him before is now a warm, pleasant smolder in the bottom of his stomach. They break apart only when they realize someone’s wolf-whistling at them. Zayn turns to give the perpetrator the bird, then faces Liam again.

There’s something in his eyes that makes Liam smile, even though he starts to pull away. “Hey,” says Zayn, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. Liam’s smile widens slightly and he murmurs, “Hey.”

Zayn steps completely away from Liam, though he trails a hand down Liam’s toned arm. His thin, beautiful fingers come to a rest on the edge of the bandage on Liam’s arm. “I’m sorry,” Zayn repeats. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You can make it up to me,” Liam teases.

Zayn smiles and shakes his head, “How’s that?”

“Do you need me to go over those three options again?” Liam reaches a hand up, caresses Zayn’s neck.

“That might be…helpful…” Zayn gets out. Liam’s never felt so proud; _he_ makes Zayn flustered.

“One…” Liam breathes, kissing the line of Zayn’s jaw. “You give me your number. Two…” he brushes his lips against the corner of Zayn’s. Zayn wraps a hand around Liam’s bicep. “You take me on a date. Three…” His lips slide against Zayn’s, as soft as the touch of a feather. He whispers against Zayn’s mouth, “You do both.”

Zayn licks his own lips, his tongue teasingly flicking between his mouth and Liam’s as he does so. “I think…” he takes a slow breath, exhales through his nose. The warmth in Liam’s stomach flickers brighter, stronger. He fights the urge to kiss the answer out of Zayn, knowing that it won’t really help Zayn articulate an answer.

A moment later, he wishes he’d taken the chance when he had it. The door opens, and the edge strikes Zayn before it gets to Liam.

“Ah, sorry!” says a light, crisp voice. Zayn steps back and his head jerks up.

“Louis?”

“Zayn?” says the voice, and a shorter, blue-eyed boy steps into the building. “There you are!” His smile makes his eyes crinkle. Liam appreciates his finely structured face, and the spark of mischief in his eyes that rivals the one in Harry’s.

“The girls are getting sunburnt, and I can’t find any sunscreen. Let’s be off, yeah?” A flicker of surprise crosses his face and he turns to Liam. “Oh, hello there! Didn’t see you! You’re the one who saved our dear Zayn, aren’t you?”

Liam doesn’t miss the way his eyes rake down his body, then fasten onto the vertical lines marking his torso. They flick back to his face, resting briefly on his kiss-reddened lips, and then discretely slide to Zayn. This happens in the span of a moment, and Liam realizes that Louis has figured out exactly what happened before Liam’s really gotten a grasp on it.

“That’s me, yeah,” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just my job, though,” he adds, trying to be modest and downplay his part.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zayn’s gaze cut to his face sharply, and watches the planes of his face tighten. He realizes he’s made a mistake, then, but before he can back pedal, Zayn wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders in a comradely manner, and announces, “Yeah, he’s my Super Man. Let’s get the fair ladies out of the sun.”

He navigates the shorter boy through the door and throws Liam one last cryptic glance over his shoulder, and says, “Catch ya later, Lee-yum.”

 

Liam decides he needs a distraction. He can’t stop thinking about Zayn, and everything they did, and everything he wants to do. Despite the fact that it’s been another two weeks since the last time he’s seen Zayn, everything is still fresh in his mind. The scabs on his elbows and knees have even healed, for the most part. And he’s still stuck on Zayn.

The moment he’s off work, he drives home without using the public shower, as he usually would. Safely in his apartment, he takes a long, icy cold shower, trying to get himself under control. It works, slightly. He can focus on the world around him. It’s only when he closes his eyes that he sees parts of Zayn’s perfect face: his smooth, soft lips; his dark eyes, framed by darker lashes; the faint stubble marking his caramel cheeks. He’s going to go insane.

He ends up texting Harry: _want to go to a movie tonight?_

 Harry replies a few minutes later: _only if you’re buying :)_

Liam’s tempted to pull an atrocious face and send the picture to Harry as a reply, but he merely says: _avengers is on at 8:45, snacks on me_

He knows that Harry’s agreeing to be there before he even looks at the text. He opens it much later, and regrets waiting so long to check.

It says: _haha you’re adorable lou. i’ll send you a pic._ Sure enough, there's a photo attached. He opens it, then groans and closes it as quickly as possible.

He texts: _what the hell, harry?_

Harry responds quickly, per usual: _that was not for your eyes_

Liam snorts. He’d figured. _who is lou?_

_remember that boy that was with your boy at the pool last time? his name’s louis. when i ran over to them that one day, i got his number._

Liam rolls his eyes. A thought occurs to him, and he asks: _wait, did you say anything to zayn?_

_he had his nose in a book the whole time_

Well, that changed things. If only Liam had known…he could’ve avoided that second encounter with Zayn. He could’ve forgotten about the boy with the tattoos and lived his life.

Maybe he knows that lying to himself gets him nowhere. But he’s willing to try anything.

 

Liam meets Harry at the movie theater, and they immediately gravitate to the counter decorated with various kinds of candy. Liam’s still inspecting the menu, trying to decide if he’d rather have instant gratification and deal with the guilt later or stick to his healthy diet.

He thinks of Zayn, running his hands down his abs, and opts for water rather than something sugary.

Harry’s having none of that. He orders a large pop, large tub of popcorn (all for himself), and three different kinds of candy. Liam mutters profanities and pulls out his wallet, facing the rosy-cheeked youth at the register. He smiles at him when the boy meets his gaze. Then he frowns and says, “Have I met you before?”

The blonde boy raises an eyebrow and fixes him with piercing blue eyes.

“Oh _shit_.” Liam says aloud, before he can stop himself. Harry glances up sharply at that, looking back and forth between the other two boys. He ends up staring at Liam expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

“I-It’s _you._ ” Liam stutters. The boy he kissed at that party, all those months ago. He looks well, but older. His round cheeks have become leaner, his features more prominent. His teeth look a bit straighter, too. (Are those braces??) His eyes haven’t changed, though. Liam tries to remember what his lips felt like, but all that comes to mind is that last feather-light brush of Zayn’s mouth against his.

“Now he remembers me.” Mutters the boy, a thick, lilting accent giving his words a melodical feel.

“You said you lived in _Ireland_.” Liam accuses. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Call you?”

“Maybe!” The blonde snaps, throwing up his hands. “If you’d shown any interest in me afterwards, I might have given you my number!”

Harry’s eating his unpaid-for popcorn, eyes flicking back and forth between the two arguing boys.

“Well, it’s not like it’s my fault!” Liam says, exasperated. “I was fucking pissed! I couldn’t remember how to walk, let alone hit on you!”

“Well your tongue didn’t have that issue!” The boy spits. “Do you even remember my name?”

Liam’s saved by someone else’s worried voice calling out, “Oi, Niall, everything okay?” But wait. Liam recognizes that voice.

“Yeh, just a minute,” Niall replies, eyes narrowed at Liam.

The owner of the distant voice rounds the corner, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Zayn eyes Liam without so much as a flicker of recognition and says, “How may I help you?”

Liam nearly sputters aloud. But he retains composure. He fists his hands tightly, wallet still in his palm, and mutters, “I’d like to buy this.”

“Certainly,” is the cool reply. Zayn takes Liam’s money and returns the change. Liam can’t help but notice that Zayn’s careful not to let their hands brush. “Thank you, sir,” Niall mutters.

“No, thank _you_ ,” is Liam’s sarcastic response. He can’t help himself, though he regrets his harsh tone immediately. He’s hurt and confused. What has he done wrong? What does he keep doing wrong?

“Just doing our jobs,” Zayn’s smile is a little too polite. Liam can feel the hostility radiating off of the two boys. It’s a tangible wave of emotion, and he rides it away, Harry by his side.

He pays no attention to the movie, though he knows it’s funny because Harry’s clapping his hands over his mouth to hold in his silly giggles half the time. The other half of the time he’s staring at the screen intently, eyes glued to Scarlett Johansson’s ass or Chris Evans’ ass. Not that Liam blames him. If he liked girls, he’d definitely go for Scarlett. And he can appreciate the appeal of Captain America.

But there’s one thing on his mind, and it’s the look in Zayn’s eyes as Liam had walked away. He didn’t get as long a look as he would’ve liked, but he hadn’t missed the vindictive hurt there. Zayn’s words had been exceedingly polite, and the real emotions he’d been feeling had been well-protected by his cool, deceptively friendly tone. But his _eyes._

Liam cringed. He knew it was his fault that Zayn had reacted that way. But what had he done? This was just like the first time. He and Zayn oozed sexual tension until they could swim in it, and then Zayn closed off, leaving Liam to wonder what the fuck just happened. He had had enough of this.

Abruptly, he stood. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he whispered to Harry, “Just gotta use the loo,”

Harry nodded without looking at him, now ogling Robert Downey, Jr. (which Liam could understand as well).

He quickly exited the theater, getting his bearings in the hallway before heading toward the entrance. It didn’t take him long before he got to the snack counter. There he stood until both Niall and Zayn reluctantly approached him. Both of them were angry with him for different reasons. He decided to apologize to Niall first, a wrong that he could quickly make right, he reckoned.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He addressed the blonde, ignoring Zayn for the moment.

“Sure,” said the Irishman warily. He looked to Zayn, who shrugged and wandered to the back, where he’d emerged from earlier. After a moment, they heard the clattering of dishes.

Niall turned back to Liam, who glanced at him for a moment before looking at the ground. He really was ashamed of his behavior. Yes, he’d been plastered, but that wasn’t really an excuse. His eyes darted back up to Niall’s, who raised an eyebrow again.

“Look…” Liam started, unsure of how he was going to phrase this, “I’m really sorry…I know it was a shitty thing of me to do. I promise I’m not usually like that. I just…I’m so sorry…” He trailed off. He found himself doing that a lot lately. Coherent thoughts didn’t come as easily now as they used to. Niall smiled slightly, and Liam took that as an encouraging sign. “I wish we could just start over.” He shrugged apologetically.

To his utter surprise, Niall laughed loudly and merrily. He was like a blonde, thin, Irish Santa Claus. “Sure, mate!” He stuck out his right hand. “My name’s Niall, nice t meet ya!”

Liam, dumbfounded, shook his hand. “I’m Liam. The pleasure’s mine.” He was forgiven that easily? What the hell?

Niall grinned cheerily. “I’ll go get Zayn, yeh?”

Liam swallowed. “Please. And thanks. And sorry again. About before.”

The blonde flapped a hand at him, saying, “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

Liam ducked his head and smiled. He was so grateful to Niall for being so nonchalant about this entire situation. Maybe it happened to him often. Maybe not. Maybe Niall was just the person everyone else wanted to be: carefree, forgiving, full of life and joy and humor.

Liam wishes he could be more like that. Genuinely happy and outgoing, instead of forced into a caricature of that behavior by the expectations of his friends and especially his parents. “Come on, Liam,” his mother would chide. “Don’t you want to have a girlfriend? You need to get out more often, love!” She’d been trying to help, trying to make him happy. But her words cut at him. He wasn’t the heterosexual, sporty, intelligent, extroverted, perfect little boy that they wanted him to be. He was gay, and he struggled with English, and he didn’t make friends as easily as he would have liked. His shortcomings only made his parents push him harder, until he was at his breaking point.

His parents still thought he liked girls.

He couldn’t imagine how his father would react. He knew his mother would try to put a good face on for him. He also knew she’d spend nights crying about it when she thought he was asleep. Why was he such a failure at everything? His thoughts automatically slipped to Zayn. Every time he thought he was doing well, he’d screw it all up. So, he decided, this time he wasn’t going to do well. He was going to do what he thought he’d regret later. Maybe he’d end up damaging things irreparably. But at least then he’d know what the hell was going on. He just wanted to stop being so confused.

Zayn ambled out of the back a moment after Niall strode in. He walked like a cat. Unhurried, smooth, each step carefully placed, each muscle shifting precisely as far as he needed it to shift, and no further. Liam realizes that Zayn really is like a cat; he’s so contrary, and he does exactly what he wants, without accounting for others’ wishes. Liam wants to make him care. Liam wants Zayn to do something solely for another person’s benefit.

Zayn pauses in front of him, slipping his hands into his dark jeans. Thumbs hanging out, he’s the picture of teenage insolence. Liam eyes the smirk on his face. It looks unconscious, like it’s just his default expression. Then he realizes he’s been staring at the other boy’s lips for much too long to be polite.

“You’re a dick.” Liam almost claps a hand over his own mouth, but decides he’d rather stand his ground.

Zayn has this effect on him. He loosens Liam’s lips and inhibitions, alters his judgment. It’s like being drunk, except there’s no pleasant buzz to accompany the sensation. He’s just foggy and too spontaneous, and he lets insults fly as easily as he breathes.

“Yeah?” Zayn’s a master of the pokerface. Liam imagines he’s spent much time perfecting this exact expression. He exudes tranquility, looks as if nothing could ruffle him. But there’s an undercurrent to his tone that Liam doesn’t miss.

Guilt.

“Stop it.” Liam barks. “I’m so sick of your shit. Just for a fucking moment, talk without worrying about looking cool.” His fists are balled at his sides, and he’s breathing fast. But he doesn’t care, because he’s not like Zayn. He’s nothing like Zayn, and he wants the other boy to know it.

Zayn’s a star, but he doesn’t come out at night. He’s the sun. He’s constantly there, demanding attention. Brilliant and glorious, but unable to see past his own self. Liam’s been staring at him, letting Zayn burn into his eyes until he’s all that Liam can see.  He’s happy to do it. He doesn’t even care that he looks idiotic. But the thing he can’t stand is that Zayn’s refusal to acknowledge him.

He’s taking a stand. And it’s about fucking time.

 

**Zayn**

The sight of Liam jars Zayn. He spent so long building up his walls, carefully laying each brick and smoothing the mortar with little reminders like, _“You’re not good enough,”_ and _“He’ll break you.”_ But here he is, veins stark in his neck and arm muscles tensed. Liam’s shaking slightly, so powerful are his emotions. With every second that passes, Zayn can feel his fortress of solitude crumbling. Liam Payne is an earthquake, shuddering through him, and freeing all the thoughts Zayn had tried to hold back, but also shaking loose the ones he’d surrounded himself with.

_“You’re going to get hurt.”_ He glances up at Liam, struggling to hold his composure. Liam can’t see him like this. _“You’re beneath him.”_ He feels it as the mask cracks. It must be obvious now, what he’s trying to hide. _“He’s too good for you.”_  He looks down at his shoes, unable to meet the other boy’s gaze anymore. _“He deserves better.”_

His father’s voice rang in his ear, quiet but upset. _“I just want what’s best for you. You could be so much more than a teacher_.” Zayn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the memories back into the recesses of his mind. But they came anyway.

His father sat the table, and his mother stood at his shoulder. They stared sadly down at the letter in front of them. It was an acceptance letter, but not from the right university. Zayn tried to explain, tried to tell him that he really wanted to help kids instead of going into law. But one look from his father cut him off midsentence. “ _Zayn,”_ he had sighed, _“I’m so disappointed with you.”_

And from then on, everything had just…happened. His grades had suddenly plummeted. He ran with a different crowd, one that was full of leather jackets and dyed hair, piercings and cigarette smoke. He partied hard, slept in strangers’ beds, left for days with never a word to home about his whereabouts. And then, one morning, his key hadn’t fit in the lock.

It was hard to remember that time, because something had cracked in Zayn. Something tangible, yet intangible. He could hear it ripping and tearing in his chest, fragments shattering on his ribs, tinkling down to his stomach. But at the same time, his ears strained to fill the silence.

He’d moved out that day, and moved in with Tricia and Yaser. They were loosely related to him. They shared his last name and some blood. But they’d opened their hearts to him as well as their home.  And now his chest had sensitive, newly formed scars rather than open wounds.

But their support didn’t change anything, really. They say they’re fine with him choosing his own career, doing what he wanted with his life. But he knows that deep down, they’re just the same as his blood-parents. He’s a failure to them, just like he was a failure to his mother and father.

He’s nothing. He fails at everything he tries to do. Every time he has tried to do right, he has done wrong. He shouldn’t get involved with Liam, lest he taint him with his poisonous touch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly, eyes still downcast.

Liam is silent, but Zayn thinks that maybe, just maybe, his animosity has been lessened.

“I know…I know I’ve been a massive ass. I’m sorry I kissed you.” He pauses, shakes his head. “No, I’m not sorry I kissed you. God, it was worth it. But I am sorry for hurting you. That first day, I couldn’t believe my luck. I mean, you, the hottest fucking guy there, were _interested_. In _me._ But then I got in over my head. I had to stop it before I got carried away, you know?” He’s talking fast, trying to get his explanation out before he regains his sanity. “And then after that when I ran into you, you were just so hot, I couldn’t help it. But after I remembered why I was trying to avoid you in the first place and then when you showed up here, I thought the universe was fucking punishing me. Like, all I wanted to do is forget about you and move on with my shitty life, yeah? But here you are and here I am and God knows how much you hate me so I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He’s been unable to look up this entire time. After he’s gotten it out, though, he feels a weight melting off of his shoulders. He can finally breathe freely again. He finally meets Liam’s gaze, the slightest smile on his face, despite himself. Maybe Liam will forgive him. Maybe he won't. At least Zayn won't have to deal with the overwhelming weight of guilt anymore. He's righted this wrong, at least. 

The other boy's knuckles are still white, hands still tightly balled. Zayn resists the urge to cover them with his own fingers. It wouldn't help. Would it? Maybe if...No, no it wouldn't, he reproaches himself.

Liam suddenly exhaled deeply. "Do you know how long I agonized over this? I spent hours replaying our conversations, trying to look for what I'd said that scared you off. At first I thought it was because I kissed you, but then I remembered you weren't exactly conscious." He flushed. "I have awful luck with kisses, you know." Zayn stores this tidbit for later. _If_ there's a later, he'll want to hear about those kisses. "The second time, I thought it was because I said it was just my job to save you." Zayn remembers that, remembers how he latched onto that little comment and let it fuel all his resentment. He remembers the exact thought that ran through his head as Liam had said it. _I finally have a reason to draw back._

"I mean, I was just trying to be nice. Like, _of course_ I helped you, because I'm a lifeguard. But that's not the only reason. And I thought you would've realized. And God, don't even get me started on that kiss. I couldn't believe it was happening, and then I fucked it all up again and you ran off with Louis. Who, by the way, has probably received an extremely intimate picture from Harry by now." He shuddered. He rubbed the back of his neck, then, looking a bit nervous. "So what I'm saying is....this whole time I thought it was me. And apparently this whole time, you've been blaming yourself, too. I say we just ignore all that. Let's start new, yeah?"

Liam steps closer, leaning over the counter between them. Zayn finds himself drawn in, until they’re facing off like the last time they’d seen each other. Liam’s eyes are unfathomably deep. He’ll never be able to decipher them, or really describe them.

“Remember the three options?” Liam asks very quietly, holding Zayn’s gaze.

“Yes.” Zayn responds immediately. Then he cocks his head, reconsidering. Should he have said no? Were they treating this as a literal new beginning or...?

“Remember the fourth?” His voice doesn’t change.

“You never told me what it was,” Zayn breathes.

“That’s because you’ve already picked it,” Zayn narrows his eyes thoughtfully. What could that choice possibly be? A grin is fighting its way onto Liam’s face, despite his best efforts. "Do you need a hint?" He asks. Zayn nods fervently. He doesn't care that he looks stupid, hanging on Liam's every word. He's all right with it. Because it's Liam.

He leans in to touch his lips to Zayn’s. Their kiss is chaste, sweet, and tastes like a fresh start.

“I see...How many times can I pick that choice?” Zayn asks after they part, a little breathless.

“As many times as you want,” Liam replies, touching a hand to Zayn’s cheek. Zayn catches his fingers and presses their lips together again.

 

_**Epilogue** _

**Zayn**

He rings the doorbell of the little house then stands back, fidgeting. He pulls at his collar, straightens his shirt, runs his hands through his hair. He'd never bothered meeting parents before. His relationships hadn't exactly lasted that long. But after a few months of dating, it was about time to get cozy with the family. Right? He wasn't so sure.

When the door opens, he jumps.

“Oh, you must be Zayn! Come right in, darling!” An elegant woman stands before him, only a few inches shorter than he is. She’s all warmth and smiles as she ushers him in, patting him on the back as she does so. “Liam! He’s here!” She calls, and they hear a faint reply.

She turns to Zayn and smiles. “The girls wanted to help him get ready. Isn’t that sweet?”

Zayn nods. His mouth’s too dry and he doesn’t trust his voice. He wipes his palms on his jeans discreetly, knowing that soon Liam’s dad, Geoff, will come and clasp his hand. He’s suddenly questioning his outfit. The sweater was a good thought; it’ll cover his tattoos. But is it too casual? What if Liam thinks that he’s hiding parts of himself to make Geoff and Karen like him more?

But then Liam trots down the stairs, dressed a little haphazardly. Behind him, his two sisters are shouting down the hall, calling him names for changing out of the outfit they’d chosen for him. He smiles fondly at Zayn, planting a quick kiss on his cheek, and then wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Geoff ambles into the room, bellowing, “What’s all the noise about?”

Despite his roar, his face is open and friendly, and he extends a hand to Zayn. The caramel skinned boy takes it, shaking firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says formally.

Geoff squints down at him for a moment, not letting go of his hand. Then he lets a loose a laugh that has Zayn grinning in response. “Liam, my boy, you did well. He’s pretty!” Both Liam and Zayn flush, but Liam’s grip on Zayn’s shoulder tightens reassuringly.

Geoff and Karen guide them to the dining room by throwing a, “Let’s eat!” over their shoulders. Liam leans close to Zayn and whispers, “They like you.” Zayn turns to him and lets a sunny smile form on his lips. He knows just what expressions Liam enjoys the most. This is one of his favorites.

In response, Liam leans in to give Zayn a quick kiss, and then they separate, making their way to the table.

Zayn’s seated next to Liam and across from his father. Dinner isn’t as nerve-wracking as he’d imagined. Liam had been worrying about it for days, and Zayn had based his expectations off of his boyfriend’s feelings. But soon he relaxed, realizing that Liam had been worrying too much again—really, he did that often. Needed to loosen up a bit, he did.

When they’ve finished, Zayn helps clear off the table, and he can practically feel waves of approval from Geoff and Karen.

“Do you mind if I use the restroom?” Zayn asks politely. Karen’s quick to point out where it is, but Zayn acts confused. He can handle three turns and some stairs, but maybe if he plays dumb, he’ll be able to get Liam to come with. Liam sighs and says, “I’ll show him,”

They make their way up the stairs, then turn left, right, and left again. As they go, Zayn admires the simplistic décor. Light, creamy colors for the palette coupled with off-white statuettes make for a homey but sophisticated atmosphere. They reach a hallway that ends with a door on either side. Liam opens the door on the right, ever the gentleman, and Zayn walks in, flicking on the light. Instead of a bathroom, though, Liam’s led him to the laundry room.

He quickly slips in behind Zayn, locking the door behind him. Zayn thinks he’s going for a kiss, but instead he just wraps the boy in a close embrace, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder and murmuring, “I hope you didn’t actually have to go to the loo.”

Zayn shakes his head, a half-smile playing on his lips. “I just wanted to have a minute with you.”

Liam pulls back slightly, somehow managing to keep his body flush against Zayn’s. “You’ve got a few before they notice how long I’ve been gone.” He brushes his lips against Zayn’s, and Zayn lets a little noise of contentment slip from his throat. It’s just like the first time.

“I’ll make them count,” Zayn promises, closing the already miniscule distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah. this actually had a plot, I promise. then around 6k words I kinda deviated and this happened. so much fluff. (sorry not sorry).


End file.
